Inside the police station, Sheriff Randy Flecker and deputy Roger Roger are standing by a man in a black suit with curly blond hair. The man with the curly blond hair is wearing a dark gray tie. His left ear is pierced with a blue stud. His left hand is in his pocket, while his right hand fiddles with a shiny gold coin. The coin does not appear to be a currency in any major country.

The three to be engaged in friendly conversation. Roger slaps the shoulder of the man with curly blond hair, which appears to startle him slightly and temporarily alarm the sheriff.

A few other officers are around, but no one else of particular note is in the police station.

Jackson as well as some other EMT's emerged from a meeting room. They had just finished a CPR and AED class. Glancing to the reception area, he saw the Sheriff and Deptuy Roger standing next to a man in a black suit with blond curly hair. Jackson walked over to the group, slightly eavesdropping on the friendly conversation they were having.

"Well, I'll tell you what," the man in the black suit with curly blond hair says, "Being in a small town like this, it sure beats the cities." He scrunches up his face a bit, as he continues, "All that... anonymity... In a big city, you're just a face. But here, well, everyone has their own... idiosyncrasies... you know?"

The sheriff looks at Roger out of the corner of his eye, then focuses back on the man in the black suit. He nods and says with a chuckle, "I know exactly what you mean, Agent Spencer."

"Again, it's Dave. We're gonna be talking a lot over the next few days, and you're gonna run out of breath if you keep saying 'Agent Spencer' all the time."

"A dollar saved is a dollar earned, Randy," Roger chimes in.

Agent Spencer suddenly stops fiddling with his gold coin. "About the doctor." His voice drops to a whisper. "What are we to make of her... evanescence?"

Randy gives a shrug that seems to have some significant weight behind it. "Nora wouldn't do it. I know your theory, Dave, but, it just isn't in her character. They've scoped out the area and haven't found a body. If she really did, you know, she would not have made it far. It was blizzarding party hard that night."

Last edited by Hollis Brown on Mon Feb 15, 2016 2:19 pm; edited 1 time in total

Jackson acted like he was fiddling with his smartphone, listening in even more. Staring out the front glass window, he kept his ears trained on the group. He nearly dropped his phone when Agent Spencer's voice went low as he mentioned 'the doctor.' Jackson presumed he meant Nora Green, and that presumption was confirmed by the Sheriff. Though Jackson didn't show it, he was hot with anger. The sheer notion that the feds were pointing fingers at a doctor who regularly saved lives.

He sighed, stifling his anger before jumping slightly as his phone rang. It came from a redacted number. "Hello?" Jackson answered the phone as he held it up to his ear. The voice on the other end was heavily modified, as if Jackson was speaking to Darth Vader. "You're getting closer, Jackson. Good. You're following our clues. Maybe like a good boy, you'll see your wife again like you did on Valentine's day. We'll call with further instructions." Before Jackson had time to react, the phone call ended. Jackson wanted to react outwardly and angrily. He fought the intense urge to throw the phone across the room. Instead, all color drained from Jackson's face as he sank into a nearby chair. He remained unnervingly silent.

The conversation between Randy, Roger, and Agent Spencer continues within earshot of where Jackson is sitting. None of them are aware he is nearby.

"My gut tells me this is related to the other killings," Randy says. He awkwardly cross his arms. "It's too convenient. First Martha dies, then a month later the mistress?"

"That would put Samson in the crosshairs," Agent Spencer says. "Still, I don't think her disappearance is due to the killer. Our murderer has displayed an... unimpeachable... loyalty to his methods and to the crime scene. I can't imagine that he would abandon it."

"She could have been the intended next victim," the sheriff suggests. "And he did not want her to leave town. It would be like a loss to him, maybe."

"You're barking up the wrong tree," Roger interrupts. "This is a real hot potato here, but if our killer got both the doctor and Ms. Smith on the same night, well, then he was really burning the midnight oil. Too farfetched. I agree with Agent Spencer. There's a method to his madness. The killer's off his rocker, but I'll be a monkey's uncle if he'd stray from his modus operandi."

Jackson allowed his anger spell to quietly subside. He then pulled out his cell phone, texting the Sheriff a message that said, "Just got a call from an unknown number just now. We need to talk ASAP." Jackson stood, once again overhearing the group as they talked about the murders, and the habits of the serial killer. Jackson stood there awkwardly now, obvious to anyone now that he was clearly eavesdropping. Not that Jackson cared. It was an old habit to break, eavesdropping that is. He learned how to do it as an SAS operative. He was less sloppy and obvious about it though as a younger man. Besides, Jackson knew he needed information. Information about the killer. Information about his wife's abductor. Any information at all.

Randy's cell phone quietly beeps from inside his pocket. He pulls out the phone and reads the message, while Roger and Agent Spencer continue their conversation. Randy scans the area for a few seconds, and then his eyes lock on Jackson.

"We'll continue this talk later," the sheriff says. He looks at Agent Spencer, then Roger. He gives Roger a nod and then gestures with his head toward where Jackson is. Roger looks in that direction, then back at the sheriff, and nods again. Roger's expression shows some understanding, some confidence, and some mild confusion.

As sheriff Flecker walks toward Jackson, the door opens. The sheriff glances toward the entrance, where officer Richard Copper is leading Samson Ackermann in. Samson is in handcuffs. Not noticing Jackson, and thus thinking no one else was around within earshot, Richard says in a fairly loud voice, "He assaulted Mil Bradley and tried to push him into the well. I saw the whole thing."

The two Stakeford officers and Agent Spencer watch in silent amazement as Richard leads an unemotional, unreactive Samson forward. "Hold him for now," the sheriff says. He glances cautiously back toward Jackson, knowing full well he likely overheard Richard's announcement. "I'll be right there."

Agent Spencer and Roger wait until Richard and Samson pass by before resuming their conversation. The sheriff walks up to Jackson.

"I got one of them phone calls again, Sheriff," Jackson said softly, before peering around Randy's shoulder as Samson was hauled off to a jail cell. Jackson looked back to Randy and continued. "I'm sorry to pull you away from the Feds. But between this killer, and now the escalation of my wife's kidnappers, things are coming to a head, and I don't think the Feds understand what's going on here. The very thought that Nora Green might be the killer is preposterous, and you know it."

Randy looks back toward Roger and Agent Spencer, then back at Jackson. He gives him a sharp look and says hurriedly, "We're not looking into her as the killer, but as a potential victim." He takes a deep breath and continues quietly, "I want to quell any rumors right now, real fast. This is completely confidential, and I am only telling you this because of your connection to Nora. When she left Stakeford at the end of last month, she never reached her destination. Her car was found overturned in a ditch, but we have not located a body. They've searched the whole area again and again, but there isn't a trace of her anywhere."

Randy looks down at the floor. "We don't know what to make of it right now, and we are keeping all of this quiet. The FBI doesn't want us to make this public, until we know more. We can't give the people more reason to panic." He looks up at Jackson again. "I know it's a lot to take in. But I also need to hear about this phone call. Just know that whatever you tell me, I might need to disclose to the FBI. I hope you understand that confidentiality only goes so far, with everything that's happening in and around Stakeford"

"Well, if there is no body, then there isn't anyone dead, Sheriff. I chose to believe that Dr. Green is alive until evidence says otherwise. I thank you for telling me," Jackson says with a mild bit of relief shown in his voice. But the concern for his wife was still evident however. Jackson nervously cracked his knuckles before looking to Randy. "It was a phone call, not much longer than 30 seconds. Came from a redacted number. The voice was disguised, like Darth frickin' Vader. He said that I'm following the clues right, and that if I keep doing so, I'd be able to see my wife again." Jackson sighed, and placed his hands on his head, sighing softly as he looked around, before looking back to the Sheriff. "I'd best talk to Agent Blanc on this. I've spoke to her before. I hope she talked with you regarding this."

Standing at the front door to the Stakeford Police Station, Cliff peers inward and sees everyone standing and talking seriously. For the last few weeks he has been worrying about Dr. Nora Green. Every since that crazy dream involving his parents, strange lights and glowing ovens or whatever they were, he remembers saying out loud, "Nora Green". Then there was that red die.. How did it end up in his pocket? It was just a dream wasn't it? Cliff opens the door and walks into the police station.

Randy looks hard at Jackson. "We will be watching from a safe distance," he says. "Not close enough to endanger you or your wife. But we will be watching, and we will be on call the moment anything happens." He sighs. "And I'm sorry, but Agent Blanc is out right now. She's with someone who claims to have seen the killer. Honestly, given what I've heard, I think it's horse shit, but we have to take every possible lead seriously. But she won't be back for a while, probably. You just missed her."

-----------------

Meanwhile, Agent Spencer and Roger take notice of Cliff, who has just entered the station. "Oh, if you aren't a sight for sore eyes!" Roger calls over to Cliff. He gestures with his hand for Cliff to join their conversation. "Agent Spencer, this is Cliff Alset, a good friend of mine," Roger says. "And cliff, this is Agent Spencer of the FBI."

Agent Spencer looks carefully at Cliff, and then suddenly a flash of realization shows on his face. He is furiously fiddling with his gold coin in his left hand, while he extends his right hand out toward Cliff. He smiles and says, "Great to meet you, Cliff. Nice town you have. I only wish I was here under other circumstances."

"I'll take any help I can get, Randy." Jackson said, a tone of finality in his voice. "And I'll wait for Agent Blanc to get back into town. Let her know. You can hand her a report on this too, I guess." Jackson shook Randy's hand, then went back inside the building. He glanced over to Cliff who was talking to Agent Spencer. Tossing a wave at Cliff, Jackson then continued on inside to resume the training class scheduled for the afternoon.

Agent Spencer puts his hands on his hips and looks Cliff once over again. He cocks his head to the left. "Dr. Green left town, haven't you heard?" He raises his left eyebrow. "And why are you worried about her in particular?"

The FBI agent claps his hands and then suddenly points at Cliff. "More importantly, it has come to my attention that Ms. Christina Farrow was for some time your... concomitant... and that you also had frequent relations with Ms. Brandy Smith." Agent Spencer retracts his hand. "Both of whom, of course, have since lost their lives."

Roger looks suspiciously at Agent Spencer. "What's all that got to do with the price of tea in China?" He scowls. "I hope you're not suspecting Cliff of any involvement in this. It's a small world in Stakeford. Let's not put the cat among pigeons."

Agent Spencer smiles and gently shakes his head. "Surely, you know I mean not offense, Mr. Alset," he says, "I'm not accusing you. You are just one of the few people who seems to have known Ms. Christina Farrow rather well. Your input on this case would be valuable. We are looking in particular for any information that might connect the victims, aside from the obvious connection of all of the victims being female. So, if you would be open to it, I would like to ask you a few questions."

At that exact moment, a shout comes from elsewhere inside the station. Samson Ackermann is screaming in what sounds like agony. Then, from his animal howls, he suddenly calls out, "Mil Bradley, you're dead!"